


That Wall

by R_S



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M, Sexual Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_S/pseuds/R_S
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After reuniting again after the two years apart Zoro makes good on a promise to his captain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Wall

**Author's Note:**

> ***I do not own One Piece. All credit belongs to the great Eiichiro Oda***

Fingers brush and pull at dark locks so deeply brown that they appeared black from a distance, rich color contrasting with the back of his palms, sun tanned skin wrapped up in it. Both his hands rake back against the scalp of that raven haired boy, shaking for desire to grab hold and buck madly until he couldn’t see anymore. But that was not an option. There were strong hands on his hips, pushing him with such bruising force, back – back against the sofa cushions. Baft fabric worrying against his naked rear and lower back, and that also a pleasing friction to spin his head. The fingers of those restricting hands rolled the older man’s sweating flesh between them, massaging and tickling and teasing.

Pitched breath echoed in the otherwise quiet room, held in check only to the point where its volume did not carry outside to the deck, however not so restrained that that it did not cover the sound of creaking and other gentle woodish noises that always accompanied a constant voyage at sea. Sweat rolled down the length of his arched spine while dark hair delightedly graced his belly, a slight hum of satisfaction carrying upwards to reach his ears, and a slow savored slurp that kinked his toes.

So close to the rush of hot white fire – so close to worrying and breaking apart like so many shattered shards of from a dropped glass… A slight movement of those hands – now one pressed in earnest and oh so sweetly under one knee, lifting and exposing pale skin that had rarely (if ever) been exposed to sunlight. Fingernails grazed that place, that smooth stretch along his inner thigh that sent his green head snapping back, and he listened to the faint chiming caused by swinging brass dewdrops just below his left ear.

A giggle, always mirth, and the sound was wet and muffled and sensuous because it came from a throat stretched around such an enormous need, while at the same moment the second hand moved to find purchase with the root of that same need. Strong, oh such fiercely strong fingertips worried with controlled gentility at the already crumbling walls where-on the other side was the existence of arrested sweet nothingness under blankets of shivering white. 

Breath hitched. Sounds that could have been distress or pleas or recrimination or curses all at the same time came spilling out. Sounds, and sounds only, because the ability to speak had been lost to him some time ago. Tears rolled from the corner of his eye as he faced upwards towards the ceiling. But that eye could not see the polished Adam wood above him – or if it could, it could not convey the proper signals necessary to communicate with his brain.

He was driven deeply, deeply… Oh! the hot, tight feel of esophageal muscles surrounding the thick blood swelled part of him. He was held there, in that place of pressure and heat, while at his roots danced knowing touches and little movements, and fingers rolling his aching sack to tear apart the walls that stood. Tear them down, and break him apart inside until he knew his lungs were expelling great amounts of air and sound that may or may not have included words. He was unable to tell. 

When there was no more air left inside of him, and each white knuckle that shook between the tangled strands of soft black hair fell away with the slump of spent muscles, he heard the young man swallow. Humming as he nuzzled into the soft green patch of fur below the older man’s navel. 

“Zoro.” breathed his voice, the voice of his lover. 

The tender warm kiss that followed dropped the great swordsman beyond the previously impenetrable wall to lie naked under white light, or perhaps the light that emanated from the very man who drove him there – open and exposed and completely defenseless. He had kept his word. It was his lover’s wish, and so he did not regret it.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are welcome. I hope this was enjoyed!


End file.
